


Hung up on your voice

by so_damn_Mishalicious



Series: Witchery AU goodness [12]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Established Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hair-pulling, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Big Dick, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Prompt Fic, Public Blow Jobs, Thirsty Geralt, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:13:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23933626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_damn_Mishalicious/pseuds/so_damn_Mishalicious
Summary: 'No matter how much the Witcher resists, the wretched voice penetrates his carefully built defenses, making him amenable to all kinds of feelings and emotions. It is like a sweet, neverending form of torture without an escape.So he tells the man to shut up, over and over again, angry and furious over something so trivial being able to wreck his self-control.'---Based on the Twitter prompt: 'The reason Geralt keeps telling Jaskier to shut up is because he is incredibly turned on by the sound of his voice'More thirsty Geralt for our favorite bard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witchery AU goodness [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686538
Comments: 28
Kudos: 551
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	Hung up on your voice

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bigger than most](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23654923) by [so_damn_Mishalicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_damn_Mishalicious/pseuds/so_damn_Mishalicious). 



> And there's more thirst and praise kink coming your way xD with a continuation of my other ficlet "Bigger than most" but can also be read individually.
> 
> No real sex yet, I'm so sorry guys. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Geralt has always been affected by Jaskier's damn voice.

It is the bard's source of income for a reason, the soft timber unique and alluring when he speaks or sings. Brushing over people like a gentle touch, drawing in those listening with the promise of entertainment, until they surrender their whole attention to the young man with the charming smile. Jaskier could talk his way out of almost everything, smoothing over derailed arguments with a bunch of honeyed words tumbling from rosy lips and a soothing gesture. He could also talk his way into many things, like the trousers, skirts and beds of people he desires. Even Geralt isn't immune to the strange charm Jaskier's voice carries. Being exposed to its' croon every day, over the duration of years, weakened his resolve against giving into whatever his companion wants. 

More than once the Witcher suspects the brunette is a siren or at least descended from their kind, but there is no spark of magic anywhere in the lithe body. His medaillon lies quiet against his chest. Jaskier has to be human, just very skilled in the usage of his silvertongue. The involuntary innuendo sends a shiver down his spine and he grips Roach's reigns more tightly. Indulging in a fantasy like that is dangerous while they still walk the path, could distract him from dangers lurking by. Geralt is in charge of their protection from any kind of threat, so he can't risk being weak. Hiding away his needs in the darkest corner of his mind, he keeps walking.

But it's hard, keeps getting harder still. The other loves the sound of his own voice far too much and it fills up every tiny little space surrounding them. There is endless rambling to avoid silence falling between them, bits and parts of rhymes for new songs or sonnets when he rides, whispered suggestions how to haggle a merchant for a discount, throaty purrs of filthy propositions into strangers' ears heightened senses pick up. Jaskier's vocal range includes everything from deep rumbling in the wakes of a dramatic tale, to the high notes of old songs, sweet and almost angelic to listen to. No matter how much the Witcher resists, the wretched voice penetrates his carefully built defenses, making him amenable to all kinds of feelings and emotions. It is like a sweet, neverending form of torture without an escape.

So he tells the man to shut up, over and over again, angry and furious over something so trivial being able to wreck his self-control.

Few things are more embarrassing than growing hard over the low mumble of words, Jaskier leaning close to keep a noble from catching them, body warmth seeping through the doublet fabric into his own body, the sweet flowery scent of the bard attacking his nose. Or how a hearty, carefree laugh makes his knees weak, enticing him into smiling along. Willing it down, he tries to stick to his usual stoic outerior.

+++

It is of no use. The whole matter is overwhelming and all-consuming with Geralt caught in its' wake, enthralled by the bardling. A lost cause from almost the beginning.

The longer he stays, the less bearable it becomes and ultimately climaxes in the events back in the inn, being caught red handed by his companion and their joined tumble in the sheets. Geralt believes himself safe now, the urge lessened after it's out of his system. How whole-heartily wrong he is. The intensity of Jaskier's impact only grows.

Geralt blames it on the bard. They don't keep this a one-time thing, fumbling in shadowy alleys or fucking against a wall. On every surface they can find, not caring too much about the possibility of someone walking in on them.

Through it all Jaskier smothers him with affection and never ceases his talking, showers him with praise and dirty words, that shake him to the core and make his breath hitch.

+++

They are outside some dingy inn, hidden in the shadows of the backside, with Geralt on his knees. Jaskier is leaning against the wall, shoulders relaxed against the hard wood, fucking the Witcher's throat.

He's flushed from mulled wine and a successful performance, high on adrenaline from the pleasure he gets out of that. The fringe of tousled brown tufts falls into the handsome face, almost covering the eyes fixed on Geralt, light blue swallowed by the expanding black of blown pupils, a sly smile playing around his lips. Hips thrust lazily into the eager mouth, savouring the moment without any haste of getting done.

"That's it dear, tilt your head a bit, just like that, hmn..." nimble finger twist in long hair, musing through it, making jolts of pleasure shoot through the strong frame, "so good for me. Gods, look at you, my darling Witcher. You're gorgeous like that. The White Wolf brought to his knees and choking on my dick."

Geralt groans around the massive girth in his mouth. High carved cheeks heat up and he bobs his head more earnest. Jaskier tastes delicious, salty and masculine with an underlying note of sweetness, that quickly becomes one of his favourites. He has never seen himself as someone invested into sucking cock, but he is getting a certain kick out of it. Though he kneels before the bard, it grants him the power to bring the other pleasure or pause to deny him. His own member is half-hard in his pants, throbbing with need and begging to be touched. Right now he's busying his hands with kneading the milky thighs of his companion or squeezing the round globes of supple hind. Jaskier sighs in delight, encouraging him to keep moving.

"Oh fuck Geralt, this is so amazing. I saw you looking at me, the whole time I roamed the stage, fucking me with those beautiful eyes of yours. You wanted to drag me off, away from the horny leers of those peasants watching, peel me out if my clothes and have me all to yourself, didn't you? It's an endearing idea, my sweet wolf, I agree. But you have been very patient, sat through the whole show, taming your temper. I'll make sure to reward you in kind, once we get inside."

The hand in his hair tightens its grip, forcing him down the whole way of the impressive length, making him moan around the shaft penetrating his throat until his nose is nestled in the bard's pubic hair. Taking in the musky scent, the Witcher is doing his best to relax and just take it, hot girth heavy on his tongue, cutting him off from any air supply. He can hold his breath for minutes easily, but the aspect of Jaskier being in charge of these most basic needs, gets him hot and hard within seconds. Being a Witcher means having permanent control over their bodies, minds and senses.

It's a blessing not _needing_ to be in control for once, to surrender this weight to someone else. Zoning out, wallowing in the blissful quiet of his mind, he closes his eyes and enjoys it. Handing himself over completely to his closest friend and lover.

Jaskier notices the other relaxing, smiling down on him with fondness and admiration.

"I will make you feel so good, Geralt. I'm gonna prop you up on the bed, making it all soft and nice for you. Then I open you up with my hands and mouth. I will take you apart, slowly, until you melt from pleasure and beg me to take you, fuck you with something bigger than my fingers and clever tongue. I will make you come at least twice and then, just then, when you're slicked up real nice and yearn for my touch, I'll wreck you real good." 

A thumb brushes over the stretch of the Witcher's lips around the massive girth, caressing it lovingly, 

"I'm gonna ravage you, darling, shove your face into the pillows and fuck you long and hard. Maybe I'll bind your hands and torso, fastening them to the bed, so your naughty hands can't sneak away to touch yourself as I'm the only one allowed to do so. Then you can do nothing, but take it, split open by my cock, keening my name until you are hoarse. Doesn't that sound wonderful? To bite and mark you up, leave bruises on your milky skin that are still there, when you wake up in the morning? Let everyone in this shithole know you're mine?"

A wanton noise escapes Geralt's chest at the prospect of being mounted, claimed, appealing to his more savage needs. 

Gods he wants it, _so fucking much_. 

How is he supposed to not always be aroused by that voice murmuring sultry promises to him in the throes of passion?

His mind grows hazy from being down for so long without oxygen, but before he can work up the strength to struggle, the other pulls him off by his hair and Geralt is sucking in fresh air in greedy gulps. Jaskier allows him a moment to adjust, checking for any signs of discomfort, then relodges the prick's head between parted lips. Welcoming the pleasant feeling of the stretch again, the white-haired Witcher opens up willingly, takes everything he's granted when the bard begins to fuck his mouth for real, hips snapping quickly into the wet heat. That lovely voice drops to a silky purr, an edge of roughness betraying the building high of pleasure.

"Hngh- gods! Your mouth feels havenly, Geralt, so hot and tight. You're perfect," the bard pants for air, a tongue licking along those rosy lips in an attempt to wet them, wanton gaze burning on the broad form between his legs, "touch yourself, darling. Make yourself feel as good as you do with me. You deserve it."

One of Geralt's hands falls to his crotch, opening the strings holding the pants closed with shaky fingers, basking in the praise washing over him. A soft hiss passes his lips when he manages to shed the material enough for his own cock to spring free from the confines, gasping as his palm comes in contact with the swollen member. He's painfully hard, shaft oozing enough precum to ease the way and the Witcher bucks into the tight hold of his hand, growling deep and feral. Nimble fingers rub against his scalp, massaging the skin, tugging at the silver strands. It won't take long for him to come.

Not wanting to spill first, the older man intensifies his efforts, sucking harder and taking the other deeper, tongue pressed against the underside of the meaty cock. Jaskier curses under his breath.

"Sweet- ah, fuck. I can't - I won't let anyone ever touch you again. Not when you make some of the best sounds I've ever heard, I love it. I should've done this earlier." 

A tremble taking over the bard's thighs, signals his partner he is close, too. Blue eyes close in pleasure, relishing in the feel of the moment, voice all husky and dark when he raps out, 

"You take me so well, hmn... I’m so proud of you. Come for me, Geralt."

Geralt couldn't disobey, if he tried. With a last tug to his prick he cums, spilling all over his fist and the ground below, throat constricting around Jaskier's length with a muffled groan. The vibration caused is enough to shove the brunette over the edge as well, cumming in hot, long streaks inside the willing mouth with a filthy moan of Geralt's name. The Witcher swallows it all, savouring the taste on his tongue, before leaning back and wipes some spit from his chin. The bard tugs himself back into his pants, then helps the other to stand. His legs sting from kneeling on the ground for so long, but it's not entirely unpleasant. More like a subtle burn nestled in the back of his head, serving as a reminder of the claim put on him. A warm sensation lingers inside his gut thinking about that.

As always the younger fusses over him, checks him for any injuries but finding none. Satisfied, Jaskier's arm snakes around strong shoulders, tugging the Witcher closer to his lithe body. Geralt often forgets just how tall the bard really is, that they are only separated by a couple inches.

"Lets get back inside, my darling Wolf. I made more than enough money to treat us with decent food and a nice hot bath. We deserve to indulge in some fineries tonight." 

Jaskier quips, leaning in even more, warm breath ghosting over the sensitive shell of his ear. Voice dropping to a soft rumble again, he adds, "We will get you nice and clean, before I take my sweet time rubbing you down with chamomile oil and then eat you out like the delicious feast you are..."

Even with Witcher stamina it shouldn't be possible to get it up again so fast. The promise behind these words and the seductive smile he faces prove him wrong, some blood running south again and he just nods, still a little dazed from the mindblowing orgasm.

A pat to his back signals they are leaving and he can't do much besides functioning through the next part of the evening, keenly waiting for the more pleasurable experiences lying ahead.

+++

Jaskier's voice still holds too much power over him and he's totally blaming the bard for that.

It's not the Witcher's fault the other talks so much, making him yearn and writh when he's trained on sinking into the velvety texture of said timbre. It's also not his fault that he gets turned on from Jaskier crooning at a stray dog, calling it a good boy and lavishing it in silly praise, making its tail wiggle with joy. Geralt does have a tail to wag too, but he will definitely not do that any time soon, too concentrated on neither being jealous of a stray mutt nor showing his predicament on the outside. 

Jaskier would be far too smug if he ever found out, what his voice does to him...

**Author's Note:**

> We're slooowly inching closer to actual sex |D" with me trying to get comfortable writing smut.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated in the comments 😊💖 also please feel free to inspire me with prompts (no matter if they're funny, thirsty or clever)
> 
> Stay safe guys!


End file.
